


Mr. Lonelyhearts

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Comfort/Angst, Cosi Fan Tutte, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Matchmaking, Possessive Crowley, Relationship Advice, Wooing, romantic farce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Gabriel's in a difficult fix, and only Aziraphale can help him. At least, that's Gabriel's theory."I have a little problem that I thought… considering what you must know – ah – intimately -- about demons…”“Ademon,” said Aziraphale expressionlessly.“”Well,ademon is more than none, and I wanted to ask – ““Archangel, this conversation is threatening to become indecent. Is this about some sort of a wager, possibly?”If A. Z. Fell’s had been the kind of shop that has a concealed bell under the counter to summon the constabulary, Aziraphale’s finger would have been on it.





	Mr. Lonelyhearts

**Author's Note:**

> This owes a bit to a flurry of delicious Gabriel/Beelzebub fanart that rumbled through my Tumblr recently. Once you see that 'ship you can't unsee it.

The chime jangled with authority, followed by a determined stride, as if someone used to command had just stepped in, but when Aziraphale looked up from his desk, the expression he saw was tentative, hesitant.

He had never seen that expression on Gabriel before.

Then again, Gabriel hadn’t thought he could breathe Hellfire before.

“What can I do for you?” Aziraphale said mildly. This looked almost interesting.

“Well… I would like to purchase some of your pornography. That is, if you have any.”

“It depends on how you define the word. Always a slippery concept, if you’ll excuse the locution. What ever for?”

“Well, Principality, I don’t know who else to come to. I know things were tense between us the last time – “

“Archangel, _tense_ is an odd way to describe proposing to extinguish me with Hellfire. If it weren’t for my association with the demon Crowley –– “

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly it. It didn’t take us long to grasp that you were impervious because of – something you share with him. Um… rumors are even that… congratulations are in order.”

Aziraphale was silent.

“And… um… I have a little problem that I thought… considering what you must know – ah – intimately -- about demons…”

“_A_ demon,” said Aziraphale expressionlessly.

“”Well, _a_ demon is more than none, and I wanted to ask – “

“Archangel, this conversation is threatening to become indecent. Is this about some sort of a wager, possibly?”

If A. Z. Fell’s had been the kind of shop that has a concealed bell under the counter to summon the constabulary, Aziraphale’s finger would have been on it.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s only that I’ve – well, you can imagine that Heaven and Hell have had to work considerably together on reorganisation after you two – after what _didn’t _ happen, and we've put in some very late hours, and one day I realized that I was actually looking forward – well, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Aziraphale considered releasing his wings and wrapping himself in them until Gabriel went away.

“At first we were just working together, but then we took breaks, and longer breaks, and she doesn’t ever say anything right out but I don’t know how you can tell with demons, _you_ do, and they’re _demons,_ impartial Heavenly love isn’t going to do it for her, is it? She’ll want – if she – “

“Archangel, am I to infer that we’re talking about the Lord of Flies? The Viceroy of Hell?” The being, he though sourly, who had tested a tub of Holy Water on one of her own minions just to make sure it was the right celestial temperature to dissolve what she thought was his own beloved Crowley.

“I don’t even feel like doing calisthenics, or practicing my trumpet voluntaries. The joy’s gone out of everything… unless I can be with her.”

“You really are serious. You want me to help you to – ”

“Aziraphale, you caught a demon. Possibly the only time that’s ever happened. I need to know – “

“Really, Archangel. Crowley caught _me._ I was a blind fool for sixty centuries, give or take. He did all the heavy lifting.”

“You could still give me pointers. I’m lost at sea – “

“I don’t remember Heaven having seas. Or Hell.”

“ – lost about how to approach her. I’m starting to think she likes me and I don’t want to blow my chance if it comes – I mean, demons like it hot, don’t they? I don’t know how to be _hot,_ that’s why – “

“This is very personal territory, Archangel.”

“Maybe even a little – what’s the expression, _rough?_ If you could show me anything – “

“Archangel, really.”

Gabriel sank onto one of the flowered chintz loveseats and buried his face in his hands.

“Aziraphale, you’ve _got to help me._ I know I was very harsh with you – we all were – but I understand what you felt now, it’s nothing I ever expected, the least little help you can give me – you know I Make An Effort after every time we part, I mean by myself, thinking of her_, __but it doesn’t help – “_

This was a bit more information than he needed. If only to stem the tide of further revelations, he rose from behind the desk, sat down on the loveseat next to the distraught archangel, and patted the sleeve of his expensive-looking gabardine jacket.

“All right, my dear. I’m not really sure how much I can help you, but I’ll do my best. What if I make us a nice cup of tea, and you tell me what your conversations have been like? And – well, I do have a near-mint early edition of _Fanny Hill_ in the back room, with some rare woodcut illustrations. I don’t know how much good it will do, but you’re free to read it here. Just – please don’t do anything unpleasant to the upholstery.”

It would certainly head off any future interest Hell or Heaven might take in his bond with Crowley. That alone made it worth the bother.

* * *

“It sounds to me,” he said after the second pot of tea and an hour’s conversation, “as if she very well might return your interest. Crowley and I had a lot to overcome, you know, but there were so many moments when I think back – a long look when we parted, a hand on the shoulder when there was no particular need to touch – have you done anything like – ?”

“I’ve found myself looking into her eyes, but I never know which pair to choose.”

“Does she seem – more _relaxed_ when she’s alone with you?”

“She hasn’t shot-put a minor demon since the first day we started to work together. And -- after the second she stopped wearing her Hell-face. As if she wanted to look more -- fetching.”

“A good sign. Sighing? Do you catch her looking at you when she thinks you won’t notice?”

“She’s always looking at me. We’re Heaven and Hell, we’ve always watched each other like hawks.”

“Well… a different kind of look. Let me see, Archangel, I think what you need to do is get her on a different footing. Crowley and I had what was simply a working Arrangement for many centuries, but we – drifted into sociability, the only two people on this plane who understood each other. Sometimes we – almost said it out loud, and then one or another of us would get cold feet. It may be the same for you. Lonely at the top. Perhaps I should show you some of the situations in which we – bonded, circumstances outside the office where you can stop being just the Archangel and the Viceroy – that might help.”

“I’ll do anything. But you can’t tell anyone – _anyone_, do you understand? If it got out –”

“All right, then. Let me tidy up these tea things. Then we’re going to take a stroll over to St. James’ Park.”

* * *

Lovesick Gabriel was actually a rather refreshing experience. He supposed it helped that he had the Archangel’s respect now. He really wasn’t such a bad sort when you got to know him. And having him in Aziraphale's debt couldn't hurt anything.

They had stopped at a small corner market for a brief lesson in handling earthly currency and a loaf of bread. “What you want is some companionate, open-ended time,” Aziraphale said. “A little shared activity that isn’t too purposeful and will let her mind wander to – where yours is wandering to, if it’s going to. Here’s a free bench.”

“There are a lot of these birds.”

“They know me. Here, toss some of this out to them.”

He shredded the heel off the loaf and tipped the fragments into Gabriel’s hand. A flurry of quacks followed the scatter of crumbs onto the grass.

“How does this – “

“It’s something to watch while you entertain private thoughts about each other. It gives you time to seize your moment.”

“Did you and Crowley – here –?”

“Archangel, that would be telling. Well, no, but it was where we built up a bond – one of the places.”

“What were the others?”

“Well – fine dining, for instance. We both enjoy that. Well, Crowley enjoys the _fine,_ and I enjoy the dining. And the wine. You have to be careful not to drink too much though, but a little – I can show you how to pace it right. What about dining at the Ritz tomorrow evening? I’ll walk you through the menu, show you how to order. It will be a new experience for her. I dare say it might send the message that she’s special to you. You could call it an executive dinner.”

“I don’t know if she eats.”

“You can try her out on the ice cream trolley over there. Go buy something for the both of you, bring it back to her. And ice creams can be very sensual to eat. They, well, drip.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and inhaled with a deep shiver.

“I’m in your hands, Aziraphale. Just show me what to do.”

“Well then, say, the Ritz tomorrow at eight. I’ll make sure they have a table for us. It’s very near here – “

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” came a drawl from behind them.

Crowley was standing a few feet away, as always defying gravity with his posture, hands stuffed in jacket pockets, the light breeze lifting his sunset-coloured hair. He looked like Sin served piping hot.

“Crowley! I’ve just been talking to the Archangel – “

“I see that.”

“We had some – issues to discuss, and I thought this would be the perfect place.”

“I see that too.”

“For the same reason we – ah, Archangel, have you actually met my own dear Crowley?”

Gabriel, smiling hopefully like an insurance salesman, rose from the bench and extended his hand. Crowley looked at him sourly for a moment, then shook it with all the enthusiasm of someone discarding a canine cleanup bag.

“Charmed,” said the Archangel. “It’s good to meet you at last, Mister Crowley. I’ve just been telling the Principality here that – it’s really time we in Heaven and Hell alike moved on from our – adversarial footing. He seemed just the person to give me a bit of advice…”

“Oh, my angel always knows the best thing to do. In any situation. I’ve told him so often, haven’t I, angel?” Crowley’s hand on the shoulder of Aziraphale’s beige twill coat squeezed a little tighter than necessary.

“I was looking for you at the shop and this seemed like the next place. If you two need more time…” The demon’s tone suggested that they had better not.

“Ah – no, Crowley, I think we’re done here. Archangel – we’ll talk again soon. I look forward to our next meeting. I hope I’ve been some help.”

They left Gabriel on the bench, perplexedly studying the behavior of the ducks.

* * *

_“What the bloody hell, angel._ Do you know how it felt to come in here and whiff _Gabriel? _I’m not going to forget that cheesy cologne he wears, he tried to erase me with Hellfire when he thought I was you, and I was _frantic,_ if it weren’t that I’ve always known where to find you anywhere on earth I’d have combusted, and then I find you _side by side_ on _our_ bench feeding _ducks _ and _chatting like old friends –_”

“We were having a civil conversation about – administrative matters, Crowley. Reorganisation is giving him problems, and he sought me out. With a very handsome apology.”

“I’ll bet.”

“It’s more or less our fault that they’re having to overhaul the whole state of Divine-Infernal relations and dealing with all the – complications that arise from working together, so I thought it was only right to offer some help. I am the only angel who’s ever been so close to a demon, after all. You have to admit it took me a while to come to terms with the idea.”

“Sixty bloody centuries.”

“So, if as I sense, some sort of _rapprochement _is occurring – “

“_Rapprochement.” _Crowley spat the word out of his mouth as if it were a fruit pit.

“ – and Gabriel wants to ask for advice and mend fences – “

“That’s one fence that’s had a bloody M-1 Abrams tank driven through it.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in military ordnance, dear.”

“I’m thinking of acquiring some,” said Crowley, and stalked out of the shop.

* * *

Perhaps he should have broken his word to Gabriel and told him. Crowley was the dearest thing in existence to him, and now he was cross. They’d made up at the flat, more or less, though the demon had stayed up leafing through star atlases long after Aziraphale had tucked himself under a tartan blanket with a copy of _Pride and Prejudice,_ and sunk into snuffling sleep almost as soon as he’d commandeered all the pillows. The angel rarely slept, just a little before dawn, and Crowley was gone when he awoke, wondering if he’d done the right thing. He was sure the demon would come round, especially if news leaked out from the celestial realms of some sort of dynastic marriage. Aziraphale briefly contemplated the possibility of double weddings.

The day at the shop passed quietly; he glanced up every time the door chimed, but it was never Crowley. Well – they’d spent decades apart in the past. And the demon was prone to sulks, but he always came out of it. Despite all that, it was with a complex unease that the angel closed the shop and set out for the Ritz. He’d been reading everything from the belatedly discovered redacted chapters of _The Perfumed Garden_ to a fairly baffling, lightweight paperback he’d picked up at Foyle’s, to do with Mars and Venus. There was something in it about quickies that reminded him of a glorious, reckless episode in the Bentley. Still, it didn’t seem to fit the situation.

Gabriel was already waiting when he entered, and the maitre d’ seemed a little startled when he seated Aziraphale at the table for two.

“Will Mr. Anthony be joining you this evening, sir? I could move you – “

“No, that’s all right, Fereydoon. This is just a business dinner with an old colleague.”

He picked up the wine list. “Now, it’s classic to order champagne, and we do love it, but it goes to your head if you’re not used to it, and I think you want to start with oysters. You do know the reputation of oysters.”

“I’m in the dark, Principality.”

“Well, they’re meant to excite – ahem – excitement. Though in Crowley’s presence I personally find they’re ah, superfluous, so I really can’t speak to that. But worth a try. You eat them raw, she might like that.”

Gabriel’s nostrils flared a little. He was actually smouldering right there at the table just from having this conversation. Clearly he was not going to require oysters.

They ordered, regardless. “I favor a Sancerre,” said Aziraphale, “it gives that little acid ping to the saltiness of the – here, you use the fork like that. Don’t bite, slurp.” Ouch. That reminded him of something he didn’t need to be distracted by – though this whole business was a bit distracting. “That’s it. It’s part of the experience – very tactile, very indulgent – it definitely creates a mood. Sip that slowly, Archangel, even a light wine can get ahead of you if you’re not careful.”

“I – I’m getting that. It’s – a remarkable experience. And you do this often?”

“Every chance I get. Why do you think I stayed here so many centuries without complaining about all the reports you wanted me to file?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Oh, since Rome at least. Now let’s see, here, you don’t want to weigh yourselves down with the dinner, especially if neither of you are accustomed to eating. The Dover Sole is famous, but I’m thinking the Cornish Turbot might be a better choice. The gloss of oily fish on your lips can look very – well, it’s … And for dessert, I can’t resist suggesting the fig leaf mousse. It would be so – so topical. Bring back history in a sly and frankly suggestive way…”

Crowley had _better_ be over his sulk by the end of the evening. Aziraphale adjusted himself discreetly under the tablecloth.

The turbot arrived before they were quite done with the oysters, which take practice for novices. “I’ve gotten tickets for an opera matinee tomorrow,” said Aziraphale. “I believe I enjoy the spectacle more than Crowley – he inclines to Shakespeare comedies – but we both like the light operas of Mozart, and they’re doing _Cosi_ in Covent Garden. It’s a romantic farce with happy endings all round, very playful, Mozart was one of theirs, I believe, which ought to please her. Curtain is at two – we’re at the beginning of the run, so you can brush up on the libretto and take her if she’s amenable, help her follow along through the pairings. Some very… well, frankly sexy moments, if it’s done right. – Ah, thank you, Estefan. We’re done with those now, yes. Now just a touch of the lemon – it’s good with all seafood – “

The waiter’s retreating step was supplanted by a quick, determined approaching stride that Aziraphale knew like his own voice. There was a rude scrape as a chair was abstracted from a nearby empty table and Crowley wedged himself in on Gabriel’s left and Aziraphale’s right.

“Ah – Mr. Anthony. Shall I lay another place – ?” Estefan hadn’t kept his job here by being oblivious (or flappable).

“Just a glass of sherry, Stef. And a howitzer.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. Lustau. Fino.” Even through the sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes were somehow blazing. Gabriel looked as if he might discorporate, or translate Upstairs on the spot. The fork was forgotten in his hand. Crowley bent close, fingers clenched and raking up the tablecloth, and said through gritted teeth: “Listen, you slimy, weaseling interloper. I’m wise to you. I know what you want. You’re not getting it."

“Ah – Crowley – “

“If you lay _one finger_ on my angel there will be pieces of you the length of this island, and I mean from here to John O’ Groats. That’s about a twelve hour drive at highway speeds, by the way, but I think I can make it in six. Do we understand each other?”

Gabriel had turned a faint gray, but was maintaining poise the best he could. “Are you threatening me?” he said. It would have been more effective if his voice hadn’t squeaked.

“I’m ssstating a fact,” said Crowley. “_Who do you think you are horning in like thiss?”_

“You know quite well who I am – “

“Oh yes, I do," Crowley cut him off in a drawl of contempt. "You’re the prat Archangel who told _my Zira_ to _shut his ssstupid mouth and die_, do you think I could forget – 

“_Crowley – “_ whispered Aziraphale desperately. Not only was he on the verge of revealing their whole wild ruse, but the waiters were all side-eyeing them. Although Crowley's voice remained a seething undertone, his hisses carried. This was becoming a diplomatic incident.

“ – what he told me, and now you’re here sucking up to him over Sancerre and _oysssters, _you think I don’t know about oysters – “

“Crowley, please don’t make a scene. I’ll explain at home.” He tugged at Crowley's wrist; the demon shook him off.

“You’d better show up there pretty soon.” Crowley pushed the chair back again with a jarring scrape, just as Estefan arrived with the sherry glass. Crowley drained it in one gulp and stalked out. The waiters were now frankly agog; Estefan was at a loss for the first time Aziraphale had ever seen him, even the night when Crowley had slid under the table. The maitre d’ ran interference, smoothly appearing to replace the appropriated chair and remove the empty sherry glass.

“I am so sorry for the incident,” he said. “I didn’t realize – “

“No, _we’re_ sorry, my dear. It was only a little misunderstanding. Nothing I can’t clear up.”

“May I offer you an olive melange on the house? And refresh your glasses.”

“That would be lovely, Fereydoon.”

Both angels exhaled shakily as the maitre d’ retreated. “I’m sorry for that,” said Aziraphale.

“Well – he’s a demon. He’s volatile. That’s what they – it’s what I love about her.”

“Ah, we’re talking love now, are we?”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“Eternally. Deeply. Fierily. I can’t think why it took me so long to grasp it.”

“Well I’m – she can have me. Any way she wants. I just need the nerve to let her know.”

Aziraphale patted the Archangel’s sleeve, trying to mask the sinking feeling under his breastbone. He caught another sidelong glance from one of the waiters. “We’ll do our best, my dear.”

* * *

“What in the entire nine circles of _Hell_ is going on, angel? Are you _dating_ him? What – “ There was a shrill, brittle tone in Crowley’s voice, and the parts of his eyes that weren’t yellow looked red. He’d gotten through nearly half a bottle of Ardbeg in the time it took Aziraphale to bid goodnight to Gabriel and get to the flat, and he smelled like a peat fire. "You think I didn't hear enough in the park? Making your dinner date? _I'm in your hands? __Ice creams are sensual?_ Real administrative issues, there."

“My dear, you realize you simply created a _scene._ Do you know how much I had to tip Fereydoon?”

“Oh, you mean your new sugar daddy didn’t cover it? Cheap bastard.”

“It’s not like that at all. He honestly needs some help which I find myself in a position to provide – “

“Oh? What position are you providing it in? Do I need some pointers?”

The angel winced. “Crowley. Please. You’re winding yourself up over nothing. I – “

“_Nothing_ doesn’t cover watching someone you’ve wanted for _six thousand years – _ we only – “

Crowley was suddenly all over him, gripping him painfully, fingers dug into one shoulderblade, clinging like a bulldog clamp.

“I spent _so long_ trying to tell you you were too good for them. I’m _not losing you now._ Fucking smarmy Heavenly shitweasel can’t have you.”

Aziraphale tried unsuccessfully to pry himself loose. “He doesn’t want me, Crowley. It isn’t like that at all. I – I suppose I – you’re hurting me, dear. Could you just perhaps – ”

The demon stepped back, breath heaving a little, eyes closed. “I can’t bear – “

“Crowley, my darling. Oh dear, oh dear.”

“Angel – “ Crowley shook his head from side to side. “Angel, you’re just too innocent. I don’t care what his excuse is. Can’t you see what this is about? If they can get you back – an angel they think can survive Hellfire – but it’s more than that – if they can _take you away from me – “_

Aziraphale stroked the sunset-glow hair. “Come over here and sit down beside me, dear.”

Crowley stumbled blindly to the couch. There was a long silence as he sat with his arms around the angel, head resting on his shoulder.

“I need to tell you. In great confidence. I promised, but no secrets between us, my love. It’s rather unexpected.”

“Try me,” said Crowley shakily.

Aziraphale did.

* * *

“…and he seriously thinks he’s going to bone her?”

“Tasteful language, my dear.”

They had retrieved the bottle of Ardbeg – drinking from decently iced tumblers instead of the neck of the bottle this time – and retreated to the bedroom, propped on a pile of pillows that Aziraphale suspected grew larger every week or two. He couldn’t decide if Crowley was experimenting with miracles or spending time in Harrods.

“He seems quite besotted. They’ve been working together ever since the – ah – end didn’t happen, and he says she distracts him so much he can’t even blow his trumpet.”

“So he wants her to do it for him.”

Aziraphale winced again, but couldn't help smiling.

“Fuck, angel, not even _Hastur _was ever dumb enough to make a play for Bubs. You're Mr. Lonelyhearts all of a sudden, then?”

“In this context, it appears so.”

“And you’ve been taking him to our favorite spots and showing him how to make someone fall in love with him.”

“Well, more or less yes. But you know, from what he tells me, it's very likely she returns the interest. It's just a matter of - getting them to the same page."

“Opera tickets tomorrow.”

“It’s _Cosi_. That basso you liked in _Mefistofele? _I thought taking her to a romantic farce would help him_ \-- _open a conversation_. _Covent Garden at two, then afters in the shop -- just a spot of tea so we can discuss the performance a bit before I send him on his way. I don't think it would be very politic to go back to the Ritz.”

“And that’s it? Mission accomplished?”

“It’s all I can think of. Really, I can't think of anything better in the long run than getting those two together. It does take the pressure off us.”  
  
“Well, I s’pose I can live with that. – Little splash more here. Need to replace this. Good stuff." He bent to kiss the angel with his mouth half-full of whiskey. “Long's you show me you mean it. You _have_ just been eating oysters, haven’t you?”

* * *

Crowley was gone again in the morning, but the angel’s heart was easier about it. He had to do a regretful miracle or two involving marks that still showed above his collar once his tie was tied, but the memory made his eyes a little distant and his trousers snug.

Gabriel was punctual, and fascinated with the operatic spectacle; not just the production itself, but the ripple of conversation at the interval, the flirtations going on in the lobby (less witty than onstage, but apparent), the flutes of not terribly bad champagne that seemed to be miraculously ready for them at the concession.

“They don’t seem to be taking it very seriously,” he said, meaning the lovers in the story. “There’s nothing funny about my situation.”

“Yes, but you want to project a certain spirit of play. It’s part of my dear Crowley’s charm – we all love a little naughtiness. You could take her to _Tristan, _it’s opening next week_, _but you don’t want to be depressing. She already has Hell to contend with.”

“Some – froth works best, then.”

“Exactly. Suggest drinks or dinner after the performance, so you can discuss it, and explain bits that she didn’t get, just as I’m explaining them to you. Hum one of the suitors’ arias. A roguish wink. Make it one of the nicer hotel dining rooms – perhaps the Ritz, now that they know you there.”

“I got the feeling that they don’t want to know me any better, Principality.”

“Well, there are other choices. You simply want to be sure there is someplace nearby to – retire to, if things prosper. A quiet miracle can work wonders; I’m sure you can be creative with the report. – Ah, there’s the bell.”

* * *

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” said Gabriel as Aziraphale set down the tea tray.

“Don’t think too much, Archangel. That was the mistake I made. Let her know she’s special to you, make a point of showing her all the joys of this – this plane, act as if you’re sharing a precious secret that you saved only for her.”

“She’s so extraordinary… if I’d known…”

“Yes. For all of us, there’s one person who’s special. When you find that, hold onto it with both hands. My dear Crowley – I really knew on the walls of Eden, but it seemed everything was against it. Only now it’s all changing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale’s mind drifted back to the smile they’d shared then – even though everything had gone askew, and Crowley was materially responsible, that smile had sent lightning through his bones.

“When you find your moment – I can’t speak to her temperament obviously, but – well, straightforward propositions lack romance – you want to convey that you long for her, but also that you respect her – perhaps a little stroll – someplace that isn’t very public, but isn’t entirely private is always a bit exciting, at least Crowley and I find it – ahem.” Aziraphale realized he was in danger of veering into lubricious reverie, and poured another cup. “You have to be bold, but gentle. Something like this.”

He raised both hands. “May I?” Gabriel nodded an eager assent, looking remarkably like a Golden Retriever puppy. Remembering a treasured moment, Aziraphale fisted his hands behind the angle of the Archangel’s head, tilting it back a little. Gabriel’s eyes dropped shut, as he had noticed happened whenever the Archangel was trying to fix an idea in his mind. “Powerful. Confident. But tender. Don’t swoop down. I think what undid me was being looked at as if I were something absolutely _precious_ that he didn’t believe was really his – make it almost reverent, like this – “

Gabriel’s eyes flew open, and Aziraphale realized that he was actually dipping his head, lost in the memory of the first time Crowley had kissed him, swimming in remembered bliss.

“Ackgkcgkgkkkk,” said Gabriel and Aziraphale as one, jumping back.

_CLANG,_ said the door chime.

_“GABRIELLLL,” _said Beelzebub.

She looked pissed.

She had effaced the red-eyed fly headdress for this plane, and shed the blemishes of Below. The jacket and red sash that the angel remembered from Tadfield swung with her stride. An explosive exhalation of Hell-smell billowed off her, scorched rubber and sharp bitter brimstone and burnt brake linings.

Gabriel’s nostrils flared to inhale it, and he all but pointed like a hunting hound. She came to a stop in front of the chintz loveseat and the tea table, virtually breathing fire herself. “_Crowley told me_,” she said in a voice that seemed to reverberate on two slightly unsynchronized tracks at once. “You’re both idiotzzzss.”

Aziraphale saw her booted foot lift, and rescued his tea tray a split second before she kicked the table aside, reaching to seize Gabriel and haul him up by both lapels of his exquisitely tailored jacket. Terror froze his face an instant before she lowered hers to devour it.

At some length. Her left hand tilted back his head to receive what was less a kiss than an act of vertical coupling; the fingers of the right dug into his buttock, hoisting him almost off the floor, his shoe-toes grazing Aziraphale’s Axminster carpet in a futile scrabble to get his feet back under him. Gabriel moaned mutedly and struggled a little – at least, it looked like struggling – while she ravished his face, lips, throat indiscriminately and hungrily, the way a starving man would wolf a double order of chips. It went on long enough to progress from obscene to outright alarming, the Archangel’s hands grasping randomly at her sleeve and flank, pulling himself at last against her and uttering a series of wailing, muffled cries into her mouth. A deep shudder rippled through his body that suggested an awkward and lasting offence against the gabardine trousers.

Slowly she relaxed her grip, releasing him so that the entire soles of his shoes once again contacted the carpet. His eyes were unfocused and he staggered a little as he resumed normal relations with the floor.

“Might I suggest,” said Aziraphale mildly, “that the two of you get a room? I can recommend the Dorchester in Park Lane.” He recalled one night when he and Crowley had dined there and simply didn’t want to wait until they could get back to either the bookshop or the flat. “The staff are quite discreet.”

Gabriel seemed incapable of speech, but the Lord of Flies turned and inclined her head.

“My respectszzzz, Prinzzzipality. Greet the demon Crowley for me.”

She appeared to be holding Gabriel up with one hand as they jangled out the door. The chimes swung back and forth, piercing the air several times before falling silent.

* * *

“I had to summon a very junior demon and work my way up,” said Crowley. “I’m not as good with Old Enochian as you are.”

They were back at the Ritz, and Fereydoon was so glad to see them on companionate terms again (they were, after all, his best tippers) that he had brought complimentary starters. Oysters, of course.

“I suppose you couldn’t just go down there.”

“Bad plan. Half of Hell would’ve been howling for my head and the other half of 'em for my autograph.”

“What ever prompted you to do it?”

“Oh, dunno – maybe the way you were going about the whole thing like a blessed eejit. S’pose you are that.” Crowley leaned easily back in his chair, grinning fondly at his angel. “Everything Gabriel told you, pretty sure she was already gagging for it. Don’t know what she sees in the big holy plonker, but – “ Crowley sipped wine thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s got a big holy plonker.”

A pained wince was becoming the angel's semi-permanent expression.

“I just slipped over to the shop while you were sleeping and went to work with that summoning circle of yours. Figured I’d done my best to make sure you were down for the count. Took me about an hour, but she showed up all ears – _and_ eyes _– _”

“You were taking a bit of a risk, dear boy.”

“I made sure I had a bottle of Perrier on the table and the first thing I did was warn her to keep clear of it. Little bit of theater for insurance.”

“That was cleverly thought of.”

“She was like a cat on hot bricks every time I poured. You must have given quite the performance.”

“I had you to inspire me. – Oh, thank you, Estefan. That looks lovely. – So how did you – ah – explain?”

“Oh, I told her angels are bloody dense, can’t see a neon sign when it’s blinking off and on in front of them, and the two of you'd be faffing about in theater lobbies and composing sonnets until the salamanders came home if she didn’t make the first move.”

“I think she made the first, second and quite possibly tenth right there in the shop. I suppose you told her where and when to find us, but I could wish --I don’t know how I’m ever going to air it out – Crowley, you know, you never smelled like that.”

“Well, I have standards. It’s really optional. She wasn't like that this morning, reckon she laid it on for her date.”

“Apparently it was ambergris and civet to Gabriel, so I suppose our opinions don’t count. I only do hope they tip well, wherever they ended up. – Estefan, what’s this?”

“Compliments of a friend, sir. The gentleman from last night. He stopped by earlier to apologize for the row and asked us to set this aside for your next visit.” Estefan set down two fresh glasses and poured deftly.

“Hm,” said Crowley. “I take back ‘cheap bastard.’” Everyone but Crowley, who had actually created the ruckus in the first place, had now apologized for it, and being a demon, he was content to leave it that way.

“It was the young lady who paid," said Estefan, deadpan (except for a slight, almost imperceptible wrinkling of the nose). "Terribly sorry, but no one had time to get a name. They seemed in a hurry to get somewhere.”

The angel lifted his glass and whiffed the nose. It was a bit unctuous for the langoustines, but irresistibly lush. He turned the bottle in his hand, folding back the linen napkin around the label.

“Something funny, angel?”

“It’s a very nice Viognier, Crowley. Difficult grape to grow. The good ones are dear.”

“Remind me to thank her. Doesn't Gabriel have a bloody expense account?”

“The name comes from _via ghennae,_ the road to hell. Apt, I suppose."

"Well, you _did_ have the best of intentions, angel. Just needed a little help with the execution." Crowley lounged precariously backwards in the chair, raising his glass and looking insufferably pleased with himself. “What shall we toast?”

Aziraphale reached around the table to squeeze his hand briefly, tightly.

“I think it has to be _Amor vincit omnia,_ don't you?”

“Cheers.”

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you're moved to leave kudos, I'd love to know what you liked! Comments are life!
> 
> Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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